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There were many restrictions on food, especially from family members. To be frank, I also subscribed to them: low carb, low fat, no salt—where to find food like this, let alone tasty food? It was little better than clay. Salads with no salt, baked vegetables with no salt or spice, oats—I felt only a little better and luckier than a horse or a cow. All around, I could smell pizzas, pastas, hot dogs, cold desserts, bagels, and burritos (correct spelling?). I wasn't a great fan of these, though. But being an eligible part of an elite species of human beings, the mind always sought what it was denied.

My mind drifts back to a discussion I had with my family physician around seven to eight years ago. At the comparatively young age of 67, I nonchalantly beseeched him not to put me through a bypass if I ever had a heart attack. I had this simple belief: a heart attack is the easiest and best way to take leave of all known and unknown people from this world with dignity. And now, come to think of it—why did I agree to a stent? Why could I not refuse? Was it the innate greed and survival instinct to stay in this world for as long as possible?

Long ago, I started praying for health rather than a long life—because there was a severe shortage of the former. Both health and a long life? Yes, that is a good prayer, but isn’t that crossing the boundary into the deep areas of avarice? I knew the stents couldn't be removed now. And almost all my friends and relatives kept telling me, "You should be happy. You have a new heart!" Well, my guilt leaped from 0 to 100. Why do you all keep reminding me of this? I still prefer a heart attack over taking the zig-zag, knotted, complicated, tortuous route of a failure of the kidneys, lungs, or some other organ. From not having a heart, I now have a fresh new one. God save me.

Is modern medicine a friend or a foe? A boon or a curse? Viewed from one narrow angle, without looking at the side effects of these health pyrotechnics, I survived, went to New York, met my elder brother who was having health issues, and traveled to India. All good, yet?

So much so that, maybe around three weeks back, when I had some chest discomfort, I started consciously coughing. (Probably it was one of those omniscient, omnipresent, all-pervading things that freely assault all elderly citizens—gas.) But then I thought, if a heart attack is the way to move forward, why try to prevent it?

P.S.: I am not fond of using egoistic terms like "I," "me," "we," etc., but the narrative demanded them, so please pardon me. In the future, on general subjects, they will be avoided as much as possible.

To be continued... 5. Reliving or Relieving the Pain?